


All kings fall (In due time)

by Madame_V



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Acquaintances to whatever the hell they are, Introspection, M/M, Mycroft's a misunderstood sweetheart, Mycroft's in Love, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_V/pseuds/Madame_V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows what being alone is like, it is preferable to the alternative of letting himself be drawn by others. But what about finding something that shakes his convictions to their very foundations? The king of this sturdy house of cards is certainly worried when one simple, common Gregory Lestrade shows him how impressive other's can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All kings fall (In due time)

He was certainly used to being lonely. Considering the fact that he had realized that others were incredibly simple, therefore dull after his first day at the playground and not to be trusted after his first kiss, it only reinforced the idea of them being extremely idiotic and not worth his time. The shock came when he realized his brother was possibly the only clever conversation he could get. This was around his teenage years, along with his debates with his own mother over cleaning the dishes and gender connotations, Sherlock provided acceptable challenges and it was fun to try and outsmart the other, so he settled with them. College was disappointing from his first to last professor, colleague or thesis reviewer.

And when he started on his road to imminent success a Governament agent, he spent less time chatting with people or finding love (A repelling idea all things considered), and more time focused in pleasing others only to the extent that would get him up the ladder to a confortable place where he didn't have to face legwork or cases that involved moving around at all. Still, from first to last colleague, team and boss, he was utterly disappointed. By the time he was 27, the tall red-head with intelligence clouded grey eyes was only terribly certain of the fact he was built up differently, possibly in a better form than others. He also realized that others didn't take this fact in mind, and they still tried to take advantage of him with petty games of love and power that could be faced by only a fragment of his vast set of intrincate schemes.

As he rose to his current position, with few people to respond to and being secretly considered one of the greatest minds that had stepped into England, Mycroft simply dedicated himself to work; it was easier to deal with his own mind games and more fun to play chess with live pieces with free will. Every plan coming together in his mind like building up a domino road, drop one, inevitably others might be affected. Only he knew exactly which. So it was so terribly busy as well as boring, knowing that his paranoia was perfectly justified and no one could easily impress him. Perhaps a few men and women when he was younger and more innocent, but as the years passed and the only one that managed to surprise him still was (Regrettably) Sherlock, he accepted the possibility that he wasn't fully prepared for the current situation he was going through.

Mycroft's delicate eyebrows shot up when one DI stopped working in a crimescene to listen to Sherlock, not only that but the surprise only enhanced as the same man pulled Sherlock out of a freezing pool of water and saved him from a certain death. And that same young, new and shiny DI scolded the young man diagnosed with hypothermia. His latest assistant an ex NHS investigator and now MI6 agent, looked down at her phone and started dropping data and sending mails before he even requested. The girl was definitely good at her job. And he scrolled through Gregory Lestrade's entire life and career in a matter of few minutes-- it was disappointing, to be honest. Common. Utterly common, he thought looking down at the man's picture. It was taken from CCTV footage, he was completely drenched, grinding his teeth and frowning as he pulled Sherlock into the back of an ambulance. Why was he so outstanding? It wasn't until their first meeting that he thought he was in terrible trouble... Well, all kings fall, he thought as the man yelled abuse at him for his misplaced concerns when his younger brother, the very one that denied Mycroft's excistence and resented his every breath, was affected by substances (Again). Anthea was possibly smiling too brightly as he sat inside the back of the car "He's either incredibly stupid or terribly brave, sir". Mycroft didn't scoff, but he did straighten his tie and said "Yes, well. Those are synonyms, my dear...". She giggled a quietly and continued to fiddle with his agenda in that damned phone as Mycroft looked out the window restlessly. Blasted humanity to the depths of hell, he wasn't only impressively idiotic and enticing, he was also married.

Mycroft's life looked up a bit with every encounter and discussion of moral standards with the remarkable specimen throughout the years. Simple reports and short jokes outside of terrible locations ("I'm thinking of sending a bloody letter to the greeting cards company, so they make a get well soon card specifically for your git of a brother... 'Congratulations on surviving' or 'Try to be less of a git and call the police next time'", "Oh, Inspector, I'd personally ask for a 'Don't be a bother' and 'Stop escaping from the hospital', perhaps you'd make that request for me?"). They met only once outside a party where he got to see the man standing beside his wife. The 41 year-old officer looking as dashing as ever in that fitting grey suit and black shirt, and his wife looking like she would prefer to be elsewhere. Unfortunately he noticed everything, calculated everything and the inevitable demise of this relationship only brought a smile to his face. Worst of all evils, this bystander. But, oh, well, every hero needed an antithesis to his character and Greg looked gallant enough to be considered for the post of the knight in shining armour.

As years went by, with long cases they shared, once Mycroft started trusting the man's slight moments of brilliance, and gifting him in turn, with fresh coffee and help with the incredible amounts of paperwork after them. After all, Greg had aided the red-head to preserve his only precious totem. His brother, much to his own grief, was still the only man he cared having long conversations with and the only man that could destroy him. At the same time the DI started taking a bit of his own space into Mycroft's ordered mind. Sipping tea and consulted only when he needed grounding after ghastly scenes he had witnessed in Gaza, perhaps when he needed to ease his mind about a decision that heaved on his shoulders and stained his hands with drops of blood, when he was in danger or after an assassination attempt, the one time the King in the shadows had been found.

He still built up walls around him. Not to protect himself, mind you, he cares little even about such a thing. He could gladly be a brain in a jar and live happily sustained by nutritious juices and no bodily necessities. But he wasn't, since technology hadn't moved that far and it was practical having a body to fend from possible harm. So he stood inside his fortress. Shined leather shoes and his best Tom Ford closed and secured with a gold clock chain, for good measure. With which he protected his precious constructs, his plans, his secrets as well as other's, and his loved ones. Those little people that had managed to make their way into his mind and chest, clenching into it until it hurt, choking him until he was breathless, pushing him until he was on his knees.

So he was very aware of loneliness. Even the day when he heard the fateful news of Gregory Lestrade finally getting a divorce. Possibly because he realized, in the middle of a G20 meeting, that his blood stained hands weren't worthy to touch the man's rich skin and his mind was too busy to give space to the other man. But God should know, if he existed, that the nights were long for this civil servant, his bed was terribly big and inexplored territory he couldn't conquer on his own and the need that made him stand back when all he wanted was to take what he deserved, was pressing.

Mycroft had just arrived to London and immediately asked for a meeting with the man, as tired and still recovering from injuries sustained. As soon as the man got into the car he looked professional and as ready to discuss Sherlock's last messy case as ever, he was beautifully broken and he still smiled, his skin glowing under the street lights of the city he protected with such dedication and care, eyes as warm as ever, hair shining in silver and that inviting humor as sharp as ever.

Life certainly owed Mycroft one lesson. Even if he knew weakness very well, it had been born seven years after him and was possibly running an experiment in his toaster, for all he knew. Perhaps a few of his enemies were worth being mentioned on the matter as well. But the vulnerability, when he quivered as Greg smiled knowing and asked him to let him do something uncalled for, unprofessional and needed. In his own broken voice as he granted that simple wish. Or when a shaky breath came out of him as they parted, leaving the most stable man in England, desperately picking up the pieces of himself and gaping after the silver-haired DI that left his car. Dear God, all kings fall, he thought again, the bitter taste of repeating his own words even in his thoughts. Mycroft smiled in the privacy of his car looking at the other man walking into the NSY. All kings fall. And Mycroft had certainly hit the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone. I can't believe I'm writing this, gosh! I've been thinking about writing something for this fandom for the longest time and now I'm finally doing it so it's a bit surreal. First off, thank you for coming by, I hope you're confortable, please stay and review. Secondly, english isn't my main language so you might find a few mistakes along the paragraphs. I reviewed the text to make sure it was confortable to read but, you know, there's only so much I can do without a native beta. 
> 
> I really hope you like it! Enjoy, my loves! <3<3<3<3 And all my love to carrotsandsticks for proofreading! You're freaking lovely, thank you :)


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